Page 140 of The Highlander Who Protected Me

Ainsley marched down the hall. She could spend all night dithering, but therewasonly one course of action—to make her marriage a real one. It was the only way she could protect the Kendrick family, whether Royal ultimately approved of her tactics or not.

So make him approve.

Ainsley tapped on his door.

“Enter.”

She slipped inside and put her candle on the chest of drawers.

Royal was comfortably ensconced in a claw-footed armchair by the fireplace, apparently deep in a book. Clad only in breeches and a flowing white shirt, with his long, booted legs propped against the firedogs, he looked more a rugged Highlander than a respectable Glasgow businessman.

“Ah, Will,” he said without glancing up. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“I dismissed William for the evening.”

Royal carefully marked his place and put the book aside. Then he glanced over, his gaze tracking from the tips of her feathered mules to the top of her frilly nightcap. By the end of his perusal, his dark eyebrows were all but touching his hairline.

“Is this a social call?” he finally asked. “Or is there a matter you need to discuss that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Ainsley realized she hadn’t thought of a way to open up what was sure to be an awkward discussion. As she searched for an answer that sounded at least somewhat reasonable, her gaze snagged on the decanter on the table next to his chair.

“Cannot a wife visit her husband’s bedroom for a small brandy before bedtime?” she brightly asked.

When Royal’s mouth dropped open, she had to repress the impulse to groan. The poor man must think her entirely demented. One moment she was pushing him away, and the next she was charging into his bedroom like a brazen hussy.

She almost fainted with relief when his glance slid over her once more, and a slow smile replaced his befuddled look.

“Indeed a wife can,” he said, rising to his feet. “But I’m afraid this husband only has whisky to offer. Do you want me to ring for Will to bring brandy?”

“Whisky is fine. Besides, I’ve already shocked the poor fellow enough for one evening. He looked ready to swoon when I ran into him in the hall.”

“I can imagine, especially with you dressed in such delightful dishabille.”

“I’m sure I looked ridiculous, wandering around the halls like Ophelia or one of the Kendrick family ghosts.”

“We don’t have ghosts. And ridiculous is not how I would describe your appearance, my love.”

She blushed at the heat in his gaze, but then remembered why she’d come to his room in the first place.

“Oh? And how would you describe me?” She mentally cringed at her squeaky voice.

Once, she’d been very good at flirtation, but the travails of her life had destroyed the innocent fun of it.

Royal pretended to give the question serious thought, although his mouth twitched with amusement. “Charmingly delectablewould best describe it. I’ve never seen you in a nightcap before. It makes you look . . .”

Ainsley sighed. She hadn’t really thought through her attire, either. A beribboned nightcap and a wrapper with a ridiculous amount of silk, ribbon, and lace was not an ensemble calculated to turn a man’s mind to seduction, especially not a man like Royal. Yards of frilly nonsense would strike him as expensive foolishness.

“Rather like a bag of laundry exploded when I walked by, I expect,” she said.

He closed the distance between them and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You look incredibly sweet. Almost like an angel escaped from heaven, bent on a spot of mischief. With me.”

She had to smile at his nonsense. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Kendrick. You just might get it.”

“Then I will be sure to wish very hard, Mrs. Kendrick,” he murmured as he handed her to the chair.

She sank down, happy for the chance to perhaps settle her wayward heartbeat.

When he poured out a measure of whisky for her, Ainsley lifted an eyebrow at the small amount.

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